


Kissing Stranger

by sissannis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A fluffy story with a side of danger, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, I guess its bout time i add some new tags, Sirimione - Freeform, The Golden Trio, happy new year, with a side of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sissannis/pseuds/sissannis
Summary: Hermione and Sirius' accidental meetings through out the year.





	1. New Year’s Eve

**Author's Note:**

> A Happy New Year gift for all my Sirimione people! x

* * *

_**31.12** _

She scrunched her nose, a sorry attempt to hide her disgust over the overly strong perfume her friend had.

“You look rather… dashing,” she managed to say while holding her breath. “Though I’d tone down on the perfume, Ron.”

Ron sniffed his armpits. “I thought it was from you.”

“Excuse me? I’m offended!” She put a fist on her heart with a dramatic gasp.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Only body oil and all that.”

“It’s healthy for skin, Ronald.”

He sniffed again before he blanched. “ I didn’t find it strong.”

“It’s because you’re used to the smell. That’s why. Now, what you can do is, go back to your room and change your shirt.”

Ron grunted his agreement as he walked to his bedroom. ”Oh, and Harry!” He yelled to her, “He said to wake him up fifteen minutes before!”

“Fifteen?! Bloody hell. Just because he has a bike, it doesn’t mean he can ride it as fast as he wants! Just last month he got five speeding tickets—"

“It wasn’t him!” Ron interjected.

“— He could get into an accident — Oh no! Gods forbid!” She chastised her negative thought quickly, clearly ignoring her friend’s input. She ran to Ron’s room. “Ron!”

“Hermione!” He covered his chest.

“What if I jinxed it?!” Her eyes wide.

She hated jinx. She had always been an outspoken person, saying whatever things in her mind and only regretted it after. Luna berated her insensitivity, her lack of human’s emotions understanding, as she said. She then explained to her about the power of jinx, the power of irony and karma. And apparently she had jinx magic, whatever it meant.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she registered his embarrassing posture. “Seriously? You’re hiding you freckled man boobs?”

“Get out!” He kicked her out quite literally, closing the door. “Don’t forget Harry!” 

She walked to the living room to use Ron’s phone since hers was still charging. She tapped on _‘favourite’_ and smiled in glee to see her name was above Harry’s. She covered her mouth to muffle her snigger. It has been a running fight between her and Harry to be on Ron’s first spot. And clearly he hadn’t noticed it yet. She tapped on ‘ _Pothead_ ’, checking the time on her wrist, — an hour before their agreed time — and her fear for his friend’s safety once again filled her. When Harry finally answered, she launched her worries. 

“Harry James Potter! Fifteen minutes before? You think just because you ride some cool superbike you could ride to your death?! Oh, no! No, no! I take it back, Universe! Don’t listen to me!” She looked up to the ceiling, sending her prayers to all the deities there was.

The other man roared with laughter. She would be annoyed and kept on ranting; only, it wasn’t Harry. She knew Harry’s laughter anywhere. And she knew very well Harry didn’t roar.

“Uh, excuse me. Is this Harry Potter’s phone?” She asked in a small voice, embarrassed of her outburst earlier.

The laughter subsided, yet Hermione could still hear the amusement in his voice. _“Yeah. This is Harry’s. He’s getting ready so I answered for him.”_

“Well, uh, can you please let him know that we’re leaving now?”

_“And make him leave now, too? Earlier than 'fifteen minutes before'?”_

She groaned, “Yes, earlier than 'fifteen minutes before', so he has no excuse to hit another speed limits.”

_“Oh? He did?”_

“Yes! And he used _my_ address when he bought the bike and I’ve already received four just within last week!”

_“Uh-huh. Yeah… about that—"_

He didn’t get to finish whatever it was when Harry snatched the phone from him.

_“Ron?”_ He called.

“Hermione,” she corrected. “Get moving, Potter.”

He chuckled. _“I knew you gonna call earlier. I’m ready, mum.”_

“Oh, aren’t you a perfect child. Not like your brother, Ron. An abomination!” She yelled the last part on purpose so Ron could hear her.

Ron didn’t disappoint. “Hey!”

She giggled, focusing back on Harry. “See you soon?”

_“Yeah. Love you!”_

“Love you more!”  

Ron came to her the second she hung up. He looked at her expectantly, both his hands outstretched to his sides and he did an exaggerated twirl. “So?”

Hermione put her nose up and sniffed. “Perfect. Now,” she passed him his phone and grabbed hers, “let’s do the countdown!”

* * *

“Ron! ‘Mione!”

Hermione and Ron turned to see Harry jogged towards them, pushing his body against the rush of people.

“He’s so short. I don’t know how to tell him that those supplements he’s been taking won’t change the fact,” Ron whispered to Hermione behind his grinning lips.

“I don’t know how to tell him milk won’t help, too. He’s lactose intolerant for fuck’s sake. He’s so adamant to hold on to the myth,” Hermione whispered back, also behind her grinning lips.

Ron snorted at the same time Harry finally reached them. “Happy New Year, mate.”

“Happy New Year’s  _Eve,_ ” Hermione corrected.

“Whatever,” Ron shrugged. “You alone? Where’s your girl?” Ron hugged both Harry and Hermione on each of his side so they wouldn’t get separated in the throng.

“Cho and I called it off,” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, “said she couldn’t stand you and Luna.” He nudged Hermione’s rib.

“Me? And Luna? But we barely talked to her.” Her brows furrowed.

“I know. That’s what I said. She said she couldn’t accept Luna’s… occupation.”

Hermione swirled her head to face him square. “Excuse me? Rude! Luna is a Goddess! She should have bowed to her!”

“And that’s why she couldn’t stand you,” Harry added.

Ron ruffled her curls. “You made fun of her before, too, remember? Calling her Loony Lovegood every time she talked shit.”

“That was before she read my cards, Ronald. She read my life scarily accurate!”

“Tarot card reader is a pretty sketchy job,” Ron mused.

“You just said that ‘cause she told you Pansy won’t say yes until after February,” she retorted and snickered when Harry tried his best to cover his laughter.

“Oh? You think it’s funny, Harry Ginny's-lover-since-forever Potter?” Ron tightened his grip on Harry’s shoulder.

“It’s not easy! I changed her diapers when she was little! It’s fucking awkward to confess my feeling to her!” Harry blushed furiously. “Anyway, I came with my godfather.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry! I’m so happy for you!” Hermione hugged him, breaking their small cocoon. “Where is he?”

Harry let go of her and looked around. “Somewhere, I guess. I was excited to greet you two that I sprinted off.”

“You called that sprint? Very cute, Harry,” Ron looked at him with mock adoration only to receive a punch on his arm. 

Hermione nodded her support. “Yes, Harry. Punch him harder!”

The trio bickered, laughed, and shared more stories while waiting for midnight. It was New Year’s Eve, and the square was so crowded with people, waiting excitedly for the countdown. It was their ritual to do so and then continued the party at one of their houses; ever since they were done with boarding school. Hermione looked up to the big screen and jumped in excitement.

“Oh, it’s starting!” She squealed as she took out her phone, ready to record this year’s New Year.  

Just when she tapped the red button, a woman walked past her hastily, knocking her phone down.

“My phone!” She tried to pick it up but it was kicked around further and farther away from her. She turned to her friends and kissed their cheeks sloppily. “I’m gonna get my phone! Happy New Year, guys!”

Hermione left them and hated to see their dejected face. But her phone was a priceless possession of hers. She had pictures in it that she hadn’t yet transfer to her laptop. Her eyes stung at the thought of losing them. Her small stature helped her snuck between people swiftly, but it also meant people could easily shove her off.

Her eyes never wavered from her phone, still and all. And much to her relief, it stopped at someone’s pointy boot.

“Excuse me!” She tried to call the person while her eyes still trained on her phone. “Excuse me! My phone! Your boot!”

She let out a content sigh when she saw the person picked her phone up. “Oh, thank all the Gods!”

“ _Ten!_ ” The crowd started chanting.

Hermione was so close to her phone.

_“Nine!”_

She stood right in front of her lifesaver, catching her breath before she looked up to see him — her phone was in his leather gloved hand.

_“Eight!”_

She held his hand and beamed brightly at him. “Thank you, mister! You’re a lifesaver!”

He didn’t move. His grey eyes bored into her brown.

_“Seven!”_

He regarded her hand on his hand, her phone still in his grip, and cocked an eyebrow. “How can I know whether this phone really belong to you or not?”

She squinted her eyes, “Are you serious?”

He grinned from ear to ear.

_“Six!”_

“Why, of course I am.” He sounded so delighted. Too delighted.

“Fine! I’ll show you the photos. You’ll see thousands of my face there,” she huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.

_“Five!”_

He hummed. “There’s passcode though. You know what?” He took out his phone. “Give me your number and we’ll see if it rings.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Are you fucking serious?”

He laughed— roared — so hard at her question. She had no idea what was so funny.

_“Four!”_

“Fine!” Defeatedly, she gave him her number.

He put his phone on his ear, smirking when the crowd shoved her closer to him. “Hug me or you’ll fall.”

_“Three!”_

She wasn’t planning to, but all the pushing made her lost her balance. So, with pouty lips, she heeded.

He wrapped his hand around her waist. “Good girl.”

_“Two!”_

Hermione scowled. And she hated how easily her blush crept up just because this stranger locked his eyes on her. Suddenly a smile crossed his face, a handsome, genuine smile. She hoped he didn’t notice her palpitating heart.

He leaned back a little, his eyes trailing from her hair to her face. “Snow.”

_“One!”_

She tilted her face up and a toothy grin plastered on her face. She laughed, bouncing up and down and their awkwardness was long forgotten. She looked back at him with mirth twinkled in her eyes. “It’s snowing!”

_“Happy New Year!”_

She didn’t bother to watch the fireworks, neither did he. The excitement around them couldn’t faze them from each other. It was, however, broken by the man behind him who yelled: “Kiss the lass! Or you’ll have a bad year!”

Not taking any risk to ignore her jinx magic, she bit her bottom lip and said, “So…” she cleared her throat. “Uh. New Year’s kiss?”

He put their phones in his pocket before he took off his gloves. “New Year’s kiss.”

He sprawled his hand on the nape of her neck, prompting her head to tilt up and stared at each other for quite a moment until slowly, he leaned down.

His kiss was sure. It wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t hesitant, it was firm. Confident and firm. Was it because he was older? Age like a fine wine, they said. Ripe fruit and all that. She didn’t care. She thought he might be in his 30s, still, she honestly believed he could pass as late 20s if it wasn’t for his not so obvious wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

And with his tongue tasting her lips like that, confidently probing them to dive deeper into her mouth, she could definitely say she didn’t mind his age at all.

His hand moved from her neck down to caressing her spine up and down. She twined her hands around his neck, angling her head to different angles now and then so she could taste all of him, and he did likewise.

He tasted like tobacco and coffee, smelled like Bleu of Chanel — she gifted the same perfume to Harry on Christmas. She hoped she didn’t taste like the strawberry milk she drank on their way to the square, and she prayed she didn’t smell like Ron’s awfully strong perfume. She delved her fingers in his hair, pulling it just enough to make him groaned in their kiss.

She smirked. He chuckled. And they broke the kiss together.

“I believe our new year is now secured,” he said with a smile, his thumb wiping her bottom lip tenderly.

She smiled back, noting his swollen lips and felt proud that it was her doing. “I believe so, too.”

They kept staring at each other and she tried, she really tried her best, to not close her eyes at the feel of his thumb on her lips. The perfectly-timed snowing made the picture so fairytale like. She loved it.

“‘Mione!”

Ron’s voice reminded her there was no fairytale when she had a tactless with impeccable timing friend like Ron. She couldn’t see him, but she knew her red-haired friend was in hysteria mode right now. She sighed, cataloging the man’s face one last time. It seemed like he had the same idea, too. He took her face between his hands, and let his eyes roamed to every corner of her face. And her hair. And her neck.

He took out her phone and gave it back to her.

“I thought you want to verify the ownership first?” She accepted it and raised an eyebrow.

The man chuckled, twirling a lock of her curls around his finger. “Nah. Never need to.”

“‘Mione!”

She sighed again. How fitting. Just when the clock struck midnight, the magic happened and the magic lost. She tucked her phone into her pocket, and decided — for extra new year luck, as she told herself — to tiptoe and pecked his lips as her goodbye.

It startled him of course. And it didn’t take long for the shock turned to jolly.

“Happy New Year,” she said, “and thanks for the phone.”

He was still grinning, “Happy New Year to you, too, love.”

She grinned back and turned to find her friend.

She’d missed the fireworks, she’d missed the countdown, she’d missed her friends. But she hadn’t missed the New Year’s kiss.

Hermione surmised, who’d give a damn about all those when she hadn’t missed the prime essence of New Year celebration.

she laughed at her own thought when she saw her friend’s striking hair.

“Ron, I’m here!” She called him.

Ron pulled her hand and forced her through the mob. “We’ve been looking for you!”

“I’m sorry! Where’s Harry?” She asked, scanning around till he saw him ran towards her.  

Harry hugged her and gave her a once-over. “Are you hurt? Did they stomp on you?”

“Ha ha! Very funny. The short man jokes about short people,” she rolled her eyes. “Nevermind that. Happy New Year, boys! I love you both! I’m so happy we’re still friends after all the crazy stuff we’ve been through!”

She pulled them down to her height, peppering their faces with kisses and tears. “Now, let’s go to Ron’s place!”

“Why is it always my place?” Ron once again, — as the tallest among the bunch — hugged them both and led them out of the crowd.

“You have food,” Hermione said.

“And beers,” Harry added.

“And comfiest sofa, thanks to your mum,” Hermione added more.

“And a wide collection of movies,” Harry said.

“And I’m the one who’d do the cleaning,” Ron chimed defeatedly.

“Exactly!” Both Harry and Hermione chorused at the same time.

“You both are the shittiest friends. Let’s go,” Ron leaned down and kissed the top of their heads, “Happy New Year, you lil’ shits.”

* * *

_**1.1** _

Hermione was the first one to wake. She slowly sat up, massaging her headache away from all the drinking last night. She checked her phone for texts and smiled as she read all the wishes from her family and friends. Her brows knitted together when she saw an unknown sender sent a photo. She downloaded the image and left it on the sofa she was sleeping on to get a glass of water. When she sat down, taking a sip while tapping on the photo, she splurted her drink onto Ron and Harry — both were sleeping on the floor.

“Mum! It’s tsunami!” Ron yelped in his sleep.

It was funny. He looked comical. Hermione would have recorded it or took a picture of his ridiculous face. But she couldn’t take her bulging eyes away from the screen of her phone.

It was a picture of her, in the crowd, last night crowd to be exact.  

> **_“Thank you for the kiss. I can already tell the year is going to be good._ **
> 
> **_ps: Your pink cheeks looked lovely under the snow.”_ **

She could feel said pink appearing on her cheeks right now. “Holy shit!”

“‘Mione, shut up—“ Harry whined.

She ignored him and laid down, squealing and rolling from left to right like a high school girl. She looked at the text again and weighed her option: to reply or not to reply. “Oh, fuck it!”

She started typing with a stupid toothy grin on her face all the while as she figured his trick to get her phone number out.

_“Give me your number and we’ll see if it rings.”_  

She giggled before she forced a cough out. Her ego wouldn’t let herself to giggle like a lovesick puppy. And yet, once she pressed ‘send’, she couldn’t help but giggled like one. She made a mental note to call Luna and tell her everything from last night later, once she was home alone. After all, It _was_ a good start of her new year. 

> _**“Thank you for the kiss. I can already tell the year is going to be good.** _
> 
> _**ps:Your pink cheeks looked lovely under the snow.”** _
> 
> _“Want to make it better? x_
> 
> _ps: So did yours.”_
> 
>  

* * *

 


	2. Super Blue Moon

* * *

_**31.1** _

“Hermione!”

Hermione jerked her head up from her pillow. “Who?! What?!” She yelled with her eyes still closed. She was sure she heard someone call her name. Waiting for a few seconds for another call and hearing none, she dove back into her duvet happily.

A loud banging on her bedroom door forced her wake. She grunted, rolling herself to the other side of her bed where her phone was charging, checking the time. It was one in the morning. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She mumbled to herself and ignored the person who had no qualm disturbing her sleep.

Another banging.

“Pothead, I’m not in the mood to hear your drunkass ‘I love Ginny’ whines!” She threw a pillow to her poor door. “Honestly, I’m gonna change the lock tomorrow so next time you can drunk crash Ron’s instead!”

“But Hermione, I don’t smoke weed,” a serene voice said from the other side of the door.

Once the voice registered in her hazy brain, she jumped off her bed. Scrambling her way to her door and swung it wide to greet the woman, lady, goddess. _The_ Goddess. “Luna!”

“Good morning, Hermione,” Luna greeted her with a dreamy smile. “It’s time.”

Hermione blinked. “Time for what?”

Luna pulled out a white sundress from her knitted sling bag and twirled with it. “Laluna Time!”

Hermione had no idea what she was on. _Laluna Time!_ She’d said — sang — so surely. Like it was an obvious thing and Hermione was just too stupid to know what it was. She ransacked her mind, plucking out her memories of Luna and found nothing that hinted  _Laluna Time!_

But Luna looked at her so beautifully with her shiny, long, dirty blonde hair, in her own gauzy — she could see her matching floral undergarments — white kaftan, anticipating her participance to whatever Laluna Time was. _Why is she wearing sunnies at this hour?_

“Why are you wearing sunnies at this hour?” Hermione couldn’t contain her curiosity. It was one in the morning. Normal people slept at this hour. Normal people didn’t wear obnoxious sunnies and flowy, white kaftan at this hour.

“It’s not dark, Hermione love. Look! It’s bright!” Luna walked into her bedroom, dragging her to the small balcony. “Look, Hermione!” She smiled and waved her hand to the moon, whispering, “Laluna.”

It was big. Holy hell, the moon was big. And bright. Hermione tilted her head, thinking, when was the last time she had the chance to moon gazing? When was the last time she had the chance to enjoy the beauty of space and stars and universe? She tilted her head back to Luna, studying the small lady. Comparing her to normal people was ludicrous. Luna had always been eccentric. Otherworldly.

Very otherworldly.

“So… Laluna Time is us watching this gigantic moon?” Hermione asked, leaning her body forward against the rail of her balcony, eyes glued on the moon.

“Oh, yes!” She took out her phone, calling someone. Her smile widened and Hermione assumed the other person had answer the phone.

“No, this is not Ginny. Oh! I don’t think Ginny mind that you’ve changed her diapers before,” Luna said to the person.

Hermione snorted. She could tell it was Harry. _Drunk_ Harry. Ever since his godfather returned from his jail time, they spent most of their night out drinking — bonding, as what Harry called it. And he, somehow, always ended up in her bed, crying and whining about his undying — sadly unrequited — love to Ginny Weasley.

“We’re gonna come to your place now, Harry Potter. Oh? Ronald is there? Perfect! Do I invite Ginny? Okay, I’ll invite her— oh, wait. She’s at Dean’s. Bummer.” Luna winked at Hermione.

Hermione rolled her eyes, chuckling at Luna’s cheek.

“Okay. We’re leaving now. Don’t forget to wear white, Harry! Make sure Ron does, too. See you when I see you!” Luna hung up the phone, looking back to Hermione. “Now, go change to this. Then we’ll leave.”

Hermione took the offered garment and grimaced. It was not suitable for the current weather. But she didn’t dare to disobey the highest priestess. So she abided, taking it from her hand, decided that she could just wear a long coat over it. She didn’t have Luna’s confidence. Or endurance. It was one degree celsius for fuck’s sake.

“Ready!” She announced after she took a thorough once-over of her attire, picking up her phone and checking her texts before leaving.

> _**“Watching the blue moon now, Kitten. Hopefully you’re watching it, too. Tho I’m sure you’re sound asleep and dreaming of me.”** _

She smiled. They’ve been texting everyday since first of January, not 24/7 — Hermione didn’t have that much tolerance to spare her time on texting — but enough to make them grew closer. 

> _**“Watching the blue moon now, Kitten. Hopefully you’re watching it, too. Tho I’m sure you’re sound asleep and dreaming of me.”** _
> 
> _“I’m awake! And can you believe that I’m going out to watch it with friends now? The Goddess woke me up and made me wear this fluffy, white sundress!”_
> 
> _**“Hey! Don’t defy the greatest power! We don’t want to get struck by lightning on this beautiful night.”** _

Hermione laughed, pausing their chat to lock her door. Leading her friend out of the building, she asked — even though she already knew what her answer would be, “Tube?”

“We walk!” Luna answered with a grin, skipping in her steps.

“But it’s cold!” Hermione protested, adjusting her red coat to snuggle her body from the cold. The night breeze hit her face softly as they walked the pavements. _Ice-cream would be nice._

“And it’s only two blocks away, Hermione. The more we absorb the moonlight, the clearer our skin gets!” She stopped and looked up to the moon.

 _Now, who in their right mind would say no to blemish-free skin?_ Hermione, not taking any chances, followed suit.

“Besides,” she turned to Hermione, her eyes twinkling in that spooky kind of way as when she read her cards, “We tend to miss moments and places that could be. Ergo, missing chances and loves that could be.” She turned her focus back to the moon and hummed Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Hermione frowned at her crypticity. She wouldn’t dare taking whatever she said lightly. She mulled over her words and startled when Luna’s hum gotten louder. She shook her head and she, too, stood there and hummed the same children song. _Why, Luna? Of all songs. Why?_

She honestly has given up figuring her friend out.

After a moment, they continued walking, talking amiably while Hermione continued texting with him.

> _“Did you know moonlight absorption is good for your skin????”_
> 
> _**“How?”** _
> 
> _“The Goddess has spoken.”_
> 
> _**“Hahahahaha”** _
> 
> _**“Okay, Kitten. I’ll do just that.”** _
> 
> _“Good! Are you watching the moon alone?”_
> 
> _**“I was. But Moony dragged me out of my bachelor pad for a pint, He gets cranky during full moon.”** _
> 
> _“Oh! Okay then. Have fun, Sir.”_

_Sir._

It started when they’d asked for each other’s name. He had said he would send her a letter of his name in every two hours just to annoy her. So it started with a promising letter _: **S**._

Two hours had passed, he sent another letter: **_I._**

Another two hours had passed, he sent: **_R._**

And poor Hermione was never good with slow-delivery information. So in true Hermione Miss-know-it-all Granger fashion, she had impatiently replied him in annoyance, _“Sir?”_

He didn’t reply. Not even after two hours, not even after four hours. None. So at sixth hours of no reply, she had texted him again.

_“Have I said anything wrong, Sir?”_

She’d watched the three dots blinking at her, a tell-tale he was typing. It took quite a while and she’d almost exited iMessage when he had finally replied. 

> _**“Yes, Kitten. You’re behaving very bad tonight.”** _

And that was when she had felt it for the first time. The jolt, the rush, the need. She had realized it then that she liked it. She liked calling him Sir, and him calling her Kitten, reprimanding her proud self, admonishing her bossiness. It was thrilling. Like teacher and student, master and maid, dominant and submissive.

Forbidden and oh so wrong.

A ding sound of her phone took her mind away from the memory. She could feel herself gotten warm in the cool night. She looked down at her phone and read the new text.

> _**“You too, Kitten. I believe I don’t have to remind you to behave, do I?”** _
> 
> _“I’ll behave, Sir.”_
> 
> **_“That’s my good girl.”_ **

She halted her walk right outside of Seven Eleven, feeling warmer and warmer every time her eyes reread the single line over and over again. Was it even possible to feel warmth enveloped her tenfold in each passing second? Was it even possible to feel her lips getting dryer and dryer every after her licks? Was it even possible to get so turned on from that simple line?

“ _Good girl_ ,” he had said when they first met. And she had told Luna and then Ginny how she liked it, how she had felt all funny down there when he’d said it. Luna had called it, “ _The Mating Call_ .” Ginny had called it, _”Daddy kinks.”_ Followed by, “ _Granger has it hot for older man_.”

“Oh, Hermione. That blush looks lovely on you under the moonlight,” Luna said as she winked at her suggestively.

“Luna,” she pleaded with her face still trying its best to beat Ron’s flaming hair colour, “Stop teasing.”

Luna laughed and pulled the door of the convenience store open. “Come on. Let’s buy some drinks for later.”

“And—"

“Ice-cream for you. Yes, I know.” She finished for her and went straight to the third aisle, mumbling to herself, “Eating ice-cream under the moon sounds sexy.”

Hermione beamed. She really enjoyed ice-cream the most when it was cold outside. She called them “ice-cream weather” and all of her close friends knew of her little quirk. They tried to join her but when Ron couldn’t feel his tongue for three days after he'd finished a carton of strawberry ice-cream, they all gave up. _Well, it wasn’t my fault if Ron's too daft to take it as a challenge and finished the whole damn thing under ten minutes!_

She shook her head, but before she could catch up to Luna in the third aisle, her body suddenly dysfunctioned as she met a set of grey eyes in the second.

There he was in long, black suits with his hair all tied to the back and his phone in his leather gloved hand, standing right in front of her.

He was here. In a flesh. Right in front of her. And he was smirking.

“Kitten,” he bowed curtly and placed his hand on the small of her back, gently leading her out. “Where’s The Goddess?”

“Inside,” she answered as they stepped out of the shop, eyes still on him. “Where’s Moony?”

He jutted his chin toward a tall man at the counter with a basketful of chocolates, “Paying his monthly craving.”

She hummed and when she turned to look at him again, he was already staring at her. She cleared her throat and readjusted her coat — doing just anything to hide her bloody traitorous, rapid heartbeat.

She felt her heart literally dropped when his cool, leathered fingers grazed her jaw. She watched as his eyes studied her flushing face, down to her exposed neck, down to her hidden white sundress, and back up to her bitten lips.

“Aren’t you cold?” She heard him say as he took off his gloves and pulled her hands out of her pockets, putting his gloves on her. “It’s freezing tonight. Do I need to teach you how to take care of yourself, Kitten?”

She let out a shaky breath. Reading it was one thing, but listening to his deep voice, — quite hoarse maybe from all the cigarettes he consumed — calling her Kitten, was another level of surrealism.

It was exhilarating, making her blood pumped faster up to her cheeks, flushing her whole upper body and left her lower body cold, threatening her legs to fail her.

_Holy fuck!_

“I… No. Yes. I’ll take better care of myself, Sir,” she murmured.

She closed her eyes when his fingertips dragged along her neck, and leaned her head toward his touch when he said, “Good girl.”

Hermione looked up, watching the moon reflected in his grey eyes, wondrous, captivating, very, very dangerous for her heart. Her gaze shifted to his lips, gently touching it with her thumb just like he did to her before. “Can I kiss you?”

She could feel his heavy inhale. With one hand around her waist and one hand still around her neck, he leaned down to her, nudging her nose with his as he answered, “Yes.”

And she kissed him. And it was so right, so magical.

With the moon lit them just perfectly, and the wind blew her curls and dress billowy, and his fingers dug deeper into her deliciously.

It ended quicker than before yet it was so much more than before.

When they stopped, he had his hands cupping her face and she had her hands squeezing both his wrists.

“Happy Blue Moon, love,” he said before he kissed her forehead.

Hermione chuckled. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Sirius.” He ran his thumb on her cheek, right below her eye.

“The brightest star under the brightest moon?” She teased.

“I would much prefer if you call me Dog Star, Kitten.”

She laughed, leaning into him and kissing his jaw. “Happy Blue Moon,” she pecked his lips, “Sir.”

His eyes were penetrating after the word left her lips and she found she couldn't look away. They were luminous from the moon, yet she could see them darkening, dilating, needing. And it was maddening how she loved it. How she was sure her eyes mirrored his. How she had the impulse to wrap her hands around his neck and pulled him down as she gave into her needs.

She gave him a hickey right on the crook of his neck. Another one a bit higher. And another one on the other side.

And she was very proud when she heard him moan her name: “Kitten.”

The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat brought them down from their high. He squeezed her waist before he regarded the person.

“Done stocking up, Moony?” His voice was huskier, and she felt as though she was flaoting up above the cloud when all the while he spoke to Moony, he never let his eyes waver from hers.

“All done,” Moony said.

She couldn’t see him but she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Good,” Sirius simply answered. He gave her one last deep kiss, savouring her taste before he had to go. “We might end up drinking at his place, Kitten.” He pecked her reddening nose. “Let me know when you’re home.” He tucked her errant curls behind her ear and nipped the small flesh. “And behave.”

Hermione shivered, which she was quite sure wasn’t from the cold night. “Yes, Sir.”

He ran his fingers on the side of her neck one last time. “Good girl.”

When Luna came out from the shop, Hermione was still standing at the same spot, her eyes rooted on his retreating back. Luna stood beside her and she could hear her chuckle. 

Hermione groaned, pulling her curls forward to hide her blushing face. “Did you get my ice-cream?”

“Hermione's so cute," she sang, "And you marked him during full moon. Like a werewolf."

She opened her mouth. Her retort was ready at the tip of her tongue when she received a text. 

> _**"Never take you as a biter, Kitten."** _

"I told you walking is better." Luna said from her side, smiling knowingly as though she knew the Universe's deepest secret. Well, perhaps she did know. "We could have missed the store. You could have missed him."

She didn't have anything to say against that. Because fuck past Hermione Granger for making fun of this supreme-above-all-peasants being. She could have found out Universe's secrets by now. And she could have met him earlier than now. She stared at her tarot reader friend, inwardly worshipping Luna religously for she would have missed Sir tonight if it wasn’t for her Laluna Time

“It's your mating call, Hermione love,” the angel said.

She didn't say anything to that either. Instead, she looked down to her phone and replied his text with the biggest grin on her face when she noticed she was still wearing his leather gloves. 

> _**"Never take you as a biter, Kitten."** _
> 
> _"You are marked, Sir."_

* * *

 

 


	3. Valentine’s Day

* * *

_**14.2** _

It was cold. Freezing cold. Why was it cold? Was she dying? Did Harry lock her inside a freezer after she let Luna play with his hope last full moon? She opened her heavy-lidded eyes slowly and saw how white it was outside of the window.

It was snowing.

Hermione snuggled more, taking her phone together and burrowing herself deeper into her couch. She opened messages from _“Bad Bitches”_ — Pansy took the liberty naming their group chat — and there was no words, just pictures and videos of last night.

“Wild night,” she muttered as she scrolled down and downloaded all medias.

Who would celebrate their birthday in a museum? Luna Lovegood, of course. Hermione chuckled as she saw pictures of them riding dinosaurs’ skeletons — much smaller models — and videos of the three of them running around the empty halls with Coronas in their hands.

Who would rent a whole museum for their girlfriend’s birthday? Blaise Zabini, of course. With that much money spent, Hermione had a niggling suspicion he came from a dodgy, mafia family like in those movies her dad enjoyed so much.

And it didn’t help that Hermione caught him on his phone that one time, talking about ' _secluded meeting place to avoid the Leoncino family._ ’

“Freaking Italian,” she exited the group chat and moved on to read Ron’s messages.  

> **_M8, y wasn’t i invited last nite?_ **
> 
> _Ronald, stop doing that._
> 
> **_Wut????_ **
> 
> _Stop typing like an uneducated hippopotamus!_
> 
> **_Mione, m8, dis is da future_ **
> 
> _You give me headache_
> 
> **_Well, duck you! Pansy texts like this so deal with it!_ **
> 
> **_*duck_ **
> 
> **_*DUCK_ **
> 
> **_****F U C K_ **

She laughed out loud. It was true. Pansy did text like that. But she, somehow, pulled it off. She made it looked normal, annoyingly natural. Unlike Ron.

>   _Your typos could make your cousin, Diya, give a run for her money._
> 
> _And to answer your question, it was a girls-only party, Ronda! Why would we invite you?_
> 
> **_Blaise was there!!!!_ **
> 
> _Blaise happens to be Luna’s boyfriend, you tool!_
> 
> **_I’m with Pansy!!!???!!!_ **
> 
> _Ron, it was a one night stand. You fucked her once!_
> 
> **_And it was a bloody good fuck. i need to shag her again_ **
> 
> _Go vent to Hairy Pot, you cockroach! And Ron, EWWWWW!!!!!_

Hermione’s eyes widened once she saw the time. 10:43 in the morning. She promised Ginny a brunch date at the new cafe. _“The chocolate cake was heavenly, Hermione. You have to try it out!”_ Ginny had said it as though she’d been there when she actually had not. They both heard the good review from a very pregnant Fleur. And Hermione could never trust a pregnant lady’s taste bud. Her aunt Cece had once told her how sweet beef jerky was. How?

She wrapped herself with a towel, making her way to the bathroom and planning to take a long, hot bath. She stared at her snow-covered bathroom’s window and hoped the new cafe serve affogato, or banana split. She could already feel a tinge of cold at the tip of her tongue.

Ice-cream sounded perfect.

* * *

“Hermione, here!”

Hermione tiptoed to find the redhead. The place was full of couples. She saw the long line at the counter and her annoyance rose, knowing that she would be queueing with Ginny just to get a slice of cake. She turned her head over her shoulder, looking at the quaint cake house across the road longingly.

“What so special about this place, anyway? We could have gotten chocolate cake from Hannah’s cake house easily,” Hermione complained once she reached her friend.

“No! Fleur ate here and I’m not gonna lose to her, _again!_ ” Ginny glared at her, stomping her feet and planting herself more to the floor.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Gin, it’s only logical your sister-in-law has more time exploring cafes here and there. She’s a housewife! While you, on the other hand, are a student and a football player.”

“But I am younger than her! Shouldn’t I be the one who should have known all these cool places? Mingling around with my peers?” Ginny groaned in frustration.

“This is all in your head. I doubt Fleur is competing with you,” Hermione said as they moved a small fraction forward. “Oh, bugger this! We could have eaten three slices of cake already if we were at Hannah’s!”

“Not gonna happen! Nu-uh!” Ginny wrapped her strong arm around Hermione’s waist. “Chocolate cake. Here. Now.”

Once again, Hermione looked over her shoulder to Hannah’s. Then she turned her head forward back and sighed. “This is a very long queue, Ginevra.”

Ginny nodded her head and said, “Astute observation, Granger. Now, what would make _you_ surrender your queue willingly?”

Hermione took off her gloves — smiling as she recalled her last meeting with the owner — before she pulled her jacket and scarf off. “Hmm. Elders? Disables? Pregnant lady?”

The redhead grinned and pushed their way amongst the crowd, yelling, “Please, make way for my pregnant friend! She’s been in a foul mood since morning!”

Hermione regretted her answer. She felt everyone’s eyes boring into her head.

“What’s that? You’ve been wanting to try their chocolate cake?” Ginny whispered loudly, purposely, so everyone in their vicinity could hear them, “I’m so sorry, ‘Mione. But there’s a long line in front of us. I wish I could get you at least a bite. This is your first pregnancy, after all.”

The woman in front of them looked at them pitifully. She tapped on Ginny’s shoulder and smiled, “Here, take my place. It’s not good for you to be stressed. First pregnancy is something to celebrate.”

And like a dam has been opened, the next person in front of them offered their place, too, and in a blink, they ended up at the counter.

The bubbly, pink-haired staff arched an eyebrow as she studied her supposedly pregnant stomach. “Pregnant, are we?”

Hermione, in a state of panic being found out, hastily shrieked, “I’m pregnant!”

The cafe seemed to quietened down a bit and she could feel her bloody face turned scarlet.

“Really?” The staff crossed her arms under her breasts — Hermione followed the movement and inwardly sniggered at the obnoxious, heart-shaped name tag written ‘Tonks’ — and squinted her eyes, “You don’t look like one.”

“I just found out last week and I’m now in my twelfth weeks,” she rubbed her flat stomach. “Been nauseous all morning, and all I want is chocolate cake. Heard from a friend the cake you serve here is one of the best. So really, I couldn’t force other place’s cake now that I’m set to have yours.”

Tonks shifted her gaze to Ginny. “I saw you since morning. You were cursing at every new customers.”

“Yeah, well. This many people in an enclosed space could give my friend a panic attack. She’s claustrophobic, you see,” Ginny informed with a serious face.

Hermione grimaced. 

“So you never thought of getting the slice home for her?” Tonks smirked at them.

Ginny was about to reply when a new voice interrupted them. “Is everything alright here?”

“I’m pregnant!” Hermione blurted out and quickly bit her bottom lip as her eyes met the newcomer’s. “Sir?”

“Kitten?” Sirius looked at her from behind the counter, eyes scanning around her — seeming to find whom she was with. “What are you doing here?”

“I—“

“You’re _The Sir_?!” Ginny cut her off.

“It’s Sirius for you, miss,” He answered with a small bow. “And you must be Ginny, the football player.”

“Oh? She told you 'bout me, _Sirius_?” Ginny turned to Hermione, grinning from ear to ear.

“You and her other two girlfriends, yes,” Sirius answered simply, his eyes still on Hermione. “What can I get you?”

“A slice of chocolate cake, please,” Hermione answered.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you don’t like chocolate cake?”

The question alarmed her and Ginny. Both of them whipped their head toward Tonks — who was snapping her fingers loudly.

“I knew you two were lying!”

“She’s pregnant and pregnant lady has weird taste bud and cravings! Sod off!” Ginny replied hotly.

Before the two could jump into a fight, Hermione looked at Sirius pleadingly, hoping he got the message she tried to send him: stop the two girls.

Sirius smirked at her and gently, he flicked Tonks’ forehead. Tonks scowled at him, but he only replied her with a chuckle.

“Give them a slice, Dora. And—“ he winked at Hermione, “—one affogato. Take away.” Sirius walked over the counter to meet the pair and continued, “Oh, and Dora, it’s on the house.”

That earned a deeper scowl from Tonks, but he didn’t seem to notice as his focus was entirely on Hermione. She felt his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her against his chest and giving her the chance to inhale his smell. The same smell. Chanel’s perfume, tobacco, coffee, and funnily, pastry.

That reminded her, “What are you doing here, Sir?”

He looked at her, bending his head down to kiss her forehead as he answered, “I work here.”

It was vague, as it didn’t explain why he had the power to shut Tonks up and put their order on the house. Seeing her disbelief face, Sirius laughed, steering her toward his office after he told Ginny to wait for their order while he talked to her.

“I own this place,” he said once they settled inside the quite spacious office.

He had a rich, dark brown, leather sofa in it with a mahogany coffee table. Deep red adorned the walls and a black victorian chandelier hung right at the centre. It was too alluring for an office. Her mind wandered to the movie her father had made her watch with him. _The Godfather._ He even had a mini bar, lit with dim, yellow light. Drinking corner her father would’ve called it.

Looking back at him after she finished assessing the room, she asked, “ _You?_ Run a cafe?”

He sat on the edge of his study, pulling her to stand between his legs. “Why? Is it so hard to believe a man of my age run a cute cafe?”

“Yes,” she answered simply, rolling her eyes as she took out his leather gloves, “Man like you, Sir? Leathers, suits, and long hair? It’s hard to imagine.”

He took the gloves and put it beside him on the table. “Oh? You’re saying I don’t fit in the requirement?” He ran his fingers along her spine. “But I’m wearing a pink apron now, love. And a shirt.”

She eyed his tattooed arms as she leaned into him, kissing the downside of his jaw, “You smell like pastry, Sir.”

He hummed as he wrapped his hand around her waist, clearly enjoying her small kisses.

“You smell delicious,” she muttered before she bit the hollow of his throat.

Hermione wondered, has she always been this bold?

“Kitten,” he moaned to her ear, and Hermione knew then what has triggered her behaviour.

It was this man. This stranger that she had kissed in the night of New Year’s eve.

Sirius.

Her Sir.

She pulled back a little, resting her forehead against his as her small fingers trailed along his exposed arms. Hermione noted this was the first time she saw him in simple, plain shirt. “I’m not pregnant.”

He moved his forehead to her shoulder, his own shook from his laughter.

“I really am not,” she repeated.

“I’d kill the man who got you pregnant if you were, Kitten,” he said with his mouth kissing the side of her neck.

“Why?”

Sirius straightened his back. He let go of her for a moment to unclasp his silver necklace, hidden under his shirt, and held it between them.

There was a black onyx ring as it pendant and he gingerly pulled it out.

He took her hand onto his lap, tracing each finger and stopped on her middle. “This need readjustment,” he addressed the ring instead of answering her question.

Hermione looked down to her finger — her middle finger — where the exquisite ring slipped in smoothly, albeit a tad loose. She looked up to his face, waiting until he looked back at her, brown meeting grey, and she asked, “Sir?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kitten,” he leaned down and captured her lips with his.

It was Valentine’s Day. Buggering hell, of course it was Valentine’s Day. Those couples, pink aprons, heart-shaped name tags.

“I didn’t realize,” she admitted, laughing between his kisses.

“I was waiting for a wish. Or a bouquet of roses, at least.” His hands wormed under her jumper around her waist.

She hissed at the sudden contact — his cold fingers against her warm skin — but didn’t show any sign to stop him.  “Well, trust Fate to give me the chance for this gift. Thank all the Gods.”

“Thank all the Goddesses.” He spread his fingers to touch more of her.

“Thank Ginny.” She moved closer, pushing his hands down to her arse.

“Kitten,” he said last before he kissed her with his desire out in the open.

He was so in control, demanding, commanding, pushing her to submit to his way. She could feel her knees given up on her but his hands were at ready,—  as though he has expected this reaction of her — anchoring her to him.

She begged with her whimpers, with her cries, she begged for him to pull her closer and deeper and higher.

It was never enough.

She broke the kiss, going for his neck instead with intent to leave her mark on him. It would do no good for him to stand outside, serving customers with his pink apron and tattooed arms and grey eyes and handsome face.

It wouldn’t do at all.

Hermione hummed her satisfaction as she felt his pulse vibrated from his groans. He squeezed her arse harder. It was enough of a permission for her to leave more marks.

“Don’t you dare hiding them,” she warned him. She stood upright, still between his legs, cupping his face with both hands.

He nipped at her closest finger to his swollen lips. “Never.” He took the hand where his ring was on. “Don’t you ever take this off.”

She caressed his lips with hers, softly, gently, a contrast to their passionate kiss before. “Never.”

“Good girl.” he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace.

“Sir?” She called, and she was happy when he embraced her harder as she called him that.

“Hm?”

“What would you do if I were a bad girl?”

It was as if time has slowed down. Slower than when they kissed. Slower than when she was waiting for the new season of Game of Thrones. Slower than when she wanted to leave her disastrous family gathering.

They were stilled. He was unmoving. She was holding her breath.

“If you were a bad girl,” he spoke breathily, breaking the silence. The air was getting thicker and heavier around them, “I would have to punish you.”

She let go of her breath.

It was there again. That jolt. That rush. That need. She couldn’t shake it off. She wanted to know. She wanted to be punished. She yearned to be at his mercy.

“You should go, Kitten. Ginny is waiting for you outside,” he whispered.

He leaned back instead of pushing her. And Hermione reveled in that small, sweet gesture.

“Yeah,” she agreed, though her heart was heavy, conflicted whether to be disappointed or grateful at his effort to stop them.

He chuckled. “Your disappointment is showing, love.”

“I can’t help it!”

He held her neck softly and made a quick work on it, leaving trails of small, light hickeys. “Be a darling and let everyone sees your neck.”

She nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. The possibility of her letting out moans instead of a simple ‘yes’ was high.

Very high.

Sirius opened the door for her and kissed the top of her head when she walked past him.

“There you are!” Ginny stood up from her seat. “One more minute under her nose–” she glared at Tonks who was glaring back at her “–I might lose my sanity!”

Hermione laughed and she quickly asked Ginny to wait for her outside before another quarrels took place. She was putting on her coat and was about to leave her neck exposed — flaunting his marks as promised — when his voice echoed her mind.

_“If you were a bad girl, I would have to punish you.”_

She wanted it. Damn it all! She never knew she was this fucked up, but oh, for the love of Luna, she wanted her punishment. So she turned to him, watching his eyes slowly darkening as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, hiding the hickeys he left her, going against his order with an unapologetic smug smile plastered on her face.

“Sir,” she stepped closer toward him, tugging on the hem of his apron, “it seems like I have been a very bad girl.”

She saw the small twitch on his lips as she let go of him, daring herself to wink at him over her shoulder as she walked out of the crowded cafe.

“You have it bad, Granger,” Ginny teased.

“Hush, you,” she said, pulling her scarf to hide her blushing face but stopped walking, abruptly, after she turned her head to the cafe. 

“Hermione?” Ginny stopped in front of her, following her gaze. “What is it?”

Hermione didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Really. What could she tell Ginny after seeing two, fully tinted, black Bentleys parked right in front of the cafe’s backdoor? Cars that she knew quite well from her wild night with her friends last night.

What was Zabini doing here?

* * *

 


	4. Mother's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. 
> 
> If you have read this, please reread the first scene. I've changed the whole thing!

* * *

_**11.3** _

“Good morning. Goddess, it’s chilly today!”

Hermione tucked the folded newspaper into her basket, snuggling into her collar against the cool morning air of the countryside. She checked her phone for time. 8:09 a.m. Perfect.   


“I have iced cafe latte and smoked salmon salad for me, and two pomegranate juice for you two old people.” She spread the picnic blanket. “I’d get you breakfast but you’re not gonna eat them, anyway.” She took a sip of her coffee. “And I’m watching my weight now. Been stress eating for the past few days. So many things going on!”   
  
She tilted her head skyward, smiling as she trailed the small airplane making its way past the big stone arch.   
  
“I still couldn’t find Crookshanks. I know it’s been three years, but I can’t lose hope.” She kept her head down, hiding her face from the occasional wind when her phone vibrated.   
  
“Oh, it’s Neville. He just woke up and he asked me if I wanna see him after.” She replied his text with, ‘of course! Make sure you have the Longbottom’s special cookies!’ She put her phone down and started with her salad. It tasted bland. She couldn’t even take a proper bite.    
  
"This doesn't taste good," she said with a quivering lip, trying her best to push her food in only to find it difficult to do so, as though she was swallowing a big lump down her throat. Her sight suddenly went blurry and she dropped her salad bowl panicky to rub her eyes. "Don't. Not today." She noticed her hands were trembling. In fact, her whole body was shaking as she let the tears roll down her cheeks.

She looked up to the two white stones that were placed so close to each other. She took a shaky breath as she traced the dip of the letters carved on them.   
  
Jean Granger.   
  
Eric Granger.   
  
“I just want something that would remind me of you two, you know. Something that would remind me of home. Our home. That’s why,” she couldn’t stop her hiccup, “I want Crookshanks. I want all of you.” 

She closed her eyes, exhaling the heaviness she’s been carrying today — everyday. She dug out a small jar of sweets from her satchel and placing it in front of their stone.    


“It’s okay. We’ll see each other again,” she said surely.

Hermione pulled her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she hid her face and whispered, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mum.”

* * *

“You’re here early,” Neville said to her, kissing her cheeks as his greeting.   
  
“Harry went to his parents with his godfather this year.” She kissed his cheeks back. “Where’s your grandma?”   
  
“Still crying in her room,” he said, pushing a plate of cookies toward her. She accepted it happily. 

“I’m not even sure anymore if I should feel sorry or if I should laugh. You have to admit, your grandma has the funniest crying face,” Hermione said, taking a bite of the offered cookie as her head swirled to peek inside the house. Bad-mouthing grandma Longbottom was never a good idea.   


“You sound eerily like Malfoy. It makes me wanna punch your cute, tiny face,” Neville narrowed his eyes at her. He then followed her suit, looking inside the house before he continued. “And please, don’t feel sorry. We’ve seen her crying face enough to last us a lifetime. I can’t even cry for myself anymore. I’m tired just from looking at her!”   
  
Hermione laughed, recalling how easily touched his grandma was. Even a simple word of appreciation could floor her till next week. Though she was hardened from war and from her previous job as a cut-throat sergeant, she was still a grandmother to them all.   
  
Taking another bite, she asked, “Did you see your mum?”   
  
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a small fond smile plastered on his face. “She’s doing great. She gave me another of this today.” He took out a blue gum wrapper, sliding it across the table toward Hermione.   


Hermione took the wrapper, smiling at her childhood friend emphatically. “It’s amazing how Aunt Alice still remember this. Can’t believe she used to spoil us with this sweet gums behind my parents’ back.”   
  
Neville laughed. “Aunt Jean would’ve hexed her to oblivion if she’d known.”   


“You and Draco should stop calling my mum a witch!” She smacked his head, passing the wrapper back to its rightful owner. It reminded  her of the jars in his room that were filled with blue wrappers.   
  
“What do you expect! We were kids, Hermione. And she fixed us up after we fell off the tree. That was magical for two simple boys.” He jutted his chin toward the big, old tree beside his house. His warm eyes lingered there, seemingly lost in the memory of their childhood. He continued, “I’m just glad Lucius didn’t find out. He’d skinned us alive for hurting his precious heir.”   
  
At the mention of the name, they grew quiet and turned to look at the big manor across the road from Neville’s front porch.   
  
“Have you heard from Draco?” Hermione asked.   
  
“He was here earlier,” he answered, digging something from the stack of magazines under the table. “Here.” He passed her a newspaper. “He knew you’re coming. Said something bout ‘ _ good ol’ time’ _ and told me to give you this paper.”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, folding the newspaper to fit into her basket. “Tell him to move on.”   
  
“Why? Is there any residual feeling?” He teased.   
  
“Neville, shut up!” She retorted.   
  
His laughter was cut short when they saw a fully tinted, white limousine left the manor.   
  
“Abraxas is getting worse,” he said.    
  
Hermione sighed. “He’s a really nice guy — despite for what the Malfoy stands for now. Respectable. Charming. Brilliant as their patriarch. But I won’t say the same about Lucius.”   
  
Neville snorted. “Yeah.”   
  
“Hey, Nev.”   
  
“Hm?”   
  
“Don’t you think Leoncino sounds familiar?” She asked casually, taking another bite. Her finger then circled about the cookie crumbs, distracting her nervousness from Neville’s razor-sharp stare.   
  
“Hermione.”   
  
“Hm?”   
  
“What did you get yourself into now?” Neville asked suspiciously, his eyes penetrating hers so deep that she could feel her soul been studied and screamed,  “Stop looking!”   
  
“What? I’m just curious!” She tried. Though from Neville’s raised eyebrow, she could see it was useless. She gave him an innocent look and puppy eyes that she was confident Neville would fall for.   
  
“God dammit, Hermione! Fine,” he caved in, unsurprisingly. “I don’t know much of them, though.” He drummed his fingers on the table, definitely thinking. He shared that habit with their blond friend. “I only heard their name in passing from my higher-ups.”   
  
Hermione snuck a look at the shiny badge on his belt. It ran in the family, being in Department of Law Enforcement.   
  
“They said a group of Italian was seen exchanging words at an abandoned shed somewhere in Little Hangleton.”   
  
“The quiet, small village? Not suspicious at all,” she interrupted simply, yet her mind ran miles after miles.   
  
“Not at all.” He agreed sarcastically. “And one of our officer caught a glimpse of their ring. It was the Leoncino’s crest. You know how obnoxious these people are of their family, their gang. Remember when Draco got his family ring? The bloody ferret couldn't even stop shoving it in my face. ‘ _ Don’t Longbottom have a family ring? _ ’ I’m glad grandma didn’t tell Narcissa ‘bout the punch I threw to shut him up.”   
  
“Absolute narcissist,” she said, pulling her hands down under the table inconspicuously.   
  
“Too late, Hermione. I saw the ring first thing first before I even saw that bizarre thing you called hair.” He pulled her hand up, studying the ring. “Black onyx?”   
  
“There’s nothing. I’ve checked. No family representation whatsoever,” she said, waving Neville’s worry off.   
  
“That’s good news, then. Being friend with Draco’s enough of a problem,” Neville said.   
  
Before he could let go of her hand, it was snatched away from him by his grandma.   
  
“Grandma Longbottom!” She exclaimed.   
  
“My sweet child, you best be careful, waving a ring like this,” she said, patting both Hermione’s cheeks and took a seat beside her.   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
Grandma Longbottom poured herself a glass of tea. “It’s some sort of a protection ring. Most ancient families, like Malfoy and Lestrange, would give it to a family which they find fancy to extend their protection to.” She took a sip. “Anyone who sees it would know straight away that messing with you is like signing a death wish. The Blacks, as you both know, are known for their infamous, borderline insanity, rage.”   
  
“Black?” She looked at the ring, horrified. “But not many Blacks are left.”   
  
“Indeed,” Grandma Longbottom said. “And the ring could only be given by the head of family.”   
  
“No,” Hermione jumped off her seat as it all slowly dawned on her.  _ No no no no no— _   
  
“Oh, yes.” She smiled at her wickedly. “I believe you are now under the direct protection of the heir of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black, Mssr. Sirius Black.”   
  
“Fuck!” Hermione and Neville said at the same time.   
  
“I can’t just leave peacefully, can I?!” She yelled to no one, panicking at the new revelation.   
  
She took out her phone and called for a cab. “I’m going home.” She said breathily.   
  
“Listen, Hermione,” Neville held her shoulders firmly, a tinge of worry in his strong voice. “Good news is, Sirius Black is known for his transparent hatred toward his family and the Lestrange. In my opinion, being under his protection is not as bad as we make it. Take it from a police officer.” He smiled reassuringly.   
  
The sudden sound of the impatient honking told them the arrival of her ride.   
  
Hermione hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Nev.”   
  
Neville hugged her back. “No problem. Let me know if there’s anything.”   
  
She smiled as a reply. She then turned to hug grandma Longbottom. “Happy Mother's Day, grandma Longbottom.”   
  
“Oh! You precious girl!” She started to cry again.   
  
Neville looked at her annoyedly and mouthed, “Fuck you!”   
  
Hermione laughed, waving them goodbye as she made her way to the cab.

* * *

**_Hey, Kitten. How’s your day?_ ** **_  
_ **

_ Eventful. I visited my parents in the morning. Then I went to visit my childhood friend. _ _   
_

_ How about you? _

_   
_   
**_Pretty much the same. Visiting here and there. Though I skipped my parents of course. They were vile._ ** **__  
**

_ Hey! That’s mean! _

_   
_ **_Believe me, Kitten. You’d agree with me if you knew them. As of it is, they’re dead. So you’re in the clear._ ** **_  
_ **   
Hermione sighed. There it was, the obvious hatred toward his own family. She looked out the big window from Hannah’s Cake House to his cafe.   
  
She had no clue how she ended up at Hannah’s. Her legs somehow had its own brain, — a stupid one, at that, — dragging her without consent. She slumped into her chair.   
  
This was hard. She didn’t even know how to act now that she knew who he was. She couldn’t even type the endearing Sir without typing the rest of his name — ‘ius Black’ — afterward.   
  
She should have known. Sirius was not a common name. Who in their right mind would name their kid Sirius? The poor child must had been bullied for his entire school years.   
  
“Blacks’ tradition,” she huffed, “What if they run out of stars, then? Will they start naming their kids Star Lord? Star Wars? Star Trek?”   
  
She spinned the ring around her finger. “Protection,” she mumbled, covering her face with her hands and grunted into it. Her thoughts were running wild in the darkness her hands has offered. Why did he give her this ring? Why was he in contact with Zabini? Why? Why?   
  
“Why?!” She yelled into her hands.   
  
“Why what?” A manly voice jolted her out of her whirling mind.    
  
Her eyes widened when she saw the object of her frustration sat right across of her table, smiling at Hannah before turning his complete attention to her.   
  
“What are you doing here?” She asked, looking for hidden Blacks around her. Just in case.   
  
He crossed his arms under his chest, his tattoos laid upon for everyone to see. Hermione bit down her groan.   
  
“You’ve been staring at the cafe for almost half an hour. You kinda scared the shit out of Dora,” he said, chuckling. He leaned back into his seat, his legs flexed under the table until his feet found hers. “Care to tell me why are you sitting way back in this hidden booth instead of my office, Kitten?”   
  
Hermione shivered. The endearment spoken with such finesse; sliding smoothly out of his plump lips.   
  
_ No! _ _   
_   
“I—“ she stammered, her heart pounding as she searched for an answer. “I’ve been craving for Hannah’s cheesecake!”   
  
“Oh?” He untied his messy bun, running a hand through it before tying it up again with both his hands, showing his muscles off.   
  
“Not fair,” she mumbled.   
  
“What is it, Kitten?” The corner of his lips tugged upward. He leaned forward with his elbows propped on the table.   
  
Hermione huffed in annoyance. She locked her eyes with his, narrowing them as she, too, leaned forward. She tucked a wayward lock of black hair behind his ear before running her fingers on his cheek softly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head against her touch.   
  
“Why do you have to look so good everytime I see you?” Her voice a whisper.   
  
He smirked with his eyes still shut. Hermione felt like ripping that beautiful lips off him because really, it was so unfair.   
  
Here he was in white buttoned up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his long hair tied into a ponytail, and, oh, dear Morgana, he smelled so  _ so _ good.   
  
Whilst she, on the other hand, appeared to be in her mum’s vintage band t-shirt, skinny jeans, and knee high boots. To top it off, she had black long jacket as outerwear like a freaking grim reaper.   
  
“Kitten?” he called her, pulling the hand from his cheek to his lips, kissing her palm.   
  
“I‘m too ugly for you,” she told him dramatically.   
  
She could feel his lips slowly stretched into a grin against her palm.   
  
“Now, where does that come from?” He asked, amusement dancing in his grey eyes.   
  
She nudged his foot with hers. “I’m wearing boots.”   
  
“Perfect.”   
  
“And an old, ratty band tee.”   
  
“Magnificent.”   
  
Hermione pulled herself away from him, swallowing her blush down. “I’m serious.”   
  
He grinned as he set both his hands on top of the table, palms up. “Nah.  _ I’m _ Sirius.”   
  
“Lame,” she said, smiling as she slid her hands into his. She could feel his pulse against hers, catching up to each other until they were beating as one. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from giggling as the waft of pastry reached her nose.   
  
She looked up to him, her breath hitched when she caught him staring at her with a fond smile.   
  
_ Oh, mother of Luna. _ _   
_ _   
_ She felt it. That electrifying feeling that always accompanied his presence. The jolt she felt whenever he trapped her in his intense gaze. The tension and the current that bound them to the moment, blurring everything else around them. His fingers drew a circle on each of her wrist, teasing, taunting her to start, daring her to do something.   
  
And Hermione fell for it. Trapped and forced yet free and willing.   
  
She got up, her brown eyes never leaving his grey as she bent down. Her face getting closer to his until she could feel his breath warming her lips, mingling with her own breath.   
  
“Kiss me,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over his. “Kiss me now,” she repeated, “Sir.”   
  
His smirk was victorious before he adhered to her wish — command — kissing her fully and breathlessly like she had never been kissed by him before.   
  
For a second there when he slid his tongue into her mouth, her thought directed to her ring; the meaning, the consequences, the possessiveness it screamed.   
  
But for now, as she fought for dominance against him, she would take Neville’s words to heart:   
  
__ “Being under his protection is not as bad as we make it.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, loves. I know I've promised for a quick update, but I wasn't happy with the chapters. I left them to rest for a while, searching for my muse and now I've found it! So here's the new chapter dated back to March (holy fuck I've missed that many months!)
> 
> Thank you, for still sticking to this story despite it all. I appreciate every single of you with all my heart. 
> 
> ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


	5. St. Patrick's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the previous chapter, I've changed the first scene completely to fit the story and avoid future loopholes! thank you, Cecelia, for being a diligent alpha reader!

* * *

**_17.3_ **

She was surrounded in green. Green shirts, green hats, green scarves, green. She stopped walking to lean on the wall.  _ That’s it. No more drinking.  _

“You look, dare I say it,  _ green _ ,” Theo commented from her side.

“Dare I ask why were you with Zabini last night?” She asked, groaning when a throbbing headache attacked. Hermione promised herself to not ever fall for Pansy’s drinking game  challenge again. Her competitive nature had been used against her fully at last night’s party. 

“We want the same thing,” Theo answered. 

She stopped, squinting her eyes to his backpack as he continued walking. “And what is it that you two want?”

That seemed to get his attention. He turned his body to face her. She took the time to study the young man before her. He looked small, wearing the baggy dusty brown jacket — dry red spots here and there — over his grey shirt. She had seen the very same jacket many time before when she was still living in the manor; only it was on someone else. An older version of Theo. 

“What get you suddenly so interested, Granger?” He crossed his arms, brows raising as he continued, “I thought you don’t want to have anything to do with this world anymore? You left.”

Hermione swallowed her sudden rise of rage and despair down her throat. “In case you’ve forgotten, Theo, my parents died in fire the very same night Matthias died. I would have lost my sanity if I didn’t leave!” 

“What?” He asked, clearly startled by her sudden outburst, “No— I didn’t mean—” 

Her heart broke when she saw Theo’s distress face. She sighed, ashamed at her lack of self control. “I’m sorry. I just— I couldn’t  _ not _ left, Theo.

“And I’m sorry for bringing up your father. It’s just— It was a hard night for me; for both of us,” she said emphatically, “And I know Abraxas called Poppy in to attend him. Matthias should have been better the next day. I’m so sorry.”

They both knew he wouldn’t. He had lost too much blood when he had arrived that night from his job. The Nott had never been attacked, as they were a neutral party for solely being the network of intels. They were untouchable. Matthias’ death had changed everything.

“Well,” he rolled his eyes, clearly being the bigger person and brushed her tantrum aside, “obviously he didn’t or he would be the one doing all this informant shit now instead of me.” He pulled his bag forward, ransacking its content as he muttered, “Shit, so many papers,” very softly. 

Hermione leaned against the wall. Her hand roamed to her front pocket, subconsciously palming the pepper spray inside as she saw him clenching his jaw. Theo might look scrawny — and his profanity clearly limited to only ‘ _ shit _ ’ and ‘ _ bitch’  _ — but she had witnessed his rage in action when he found out about Matthias’ attack. She fretted her previous comment could have triggered him. 

“Here’s your paper.” He threw the rolled newspaper and it smacked her forehead. — She was sure he did it on purpose. “Tell me this, Granger.” He jutted his chin toward her one and only jewelry. “Did you know he’s Potter’s godfather?”

She closed her eyes, feeling the coldness of its platinum around her finger. She went on massaging the side of her scalp as another round of headache came. She had been questioning her morality ever since she found out about his identity. She made a mental note to order sage and clear crystal from Luna for some needed calming. Bad vibe be gone. She needed to sort her life out. Everything seemed to happen all at once. 

She opened her eyes when Theo tapped her shoulder. “Painkiller,” he said as he passed her a small bottle. 

She studied the bottle — a reflex for having a surgeon and a dentist as her parents — before she dug one out. She passed the bottle back to him and held his hand with her two small hands as she said, “Thank you, Theo.”

He looked at her, opening and closing his mouth as if he was ready to say something but has decided not to. He shook his head instead. He then looked down at their connected hands with a frown. 

Hermione hoped he would find the action comforting enough to talk, because honestly, she found solace in Theo. Perhaps it was because of the untimely death of their parents, or perhaps because his anger low-key had abated her guilt for leaving the manor; for leaving that life behind. She couldn’t in her life understand the logic of her twisted mind. She was about to let go when he briefly tightened his hold. 

He met her eyes and said, “You do know an informant can’t tell on their clients, right?”

“Yeah?” Hermione could feel her rapid heartbeat in her head.

“I can only tell you this: Zabini,  _ Black _ , and I, want the same thing.” 

“Sirius, too? Is that why he’s involved with Zabini?” She asked, not caring if Theo could feel her quickened pulse. “What is it that you want, Theo?”

Theo smiled at her sadly, pulling his hand back to fix his jacket. “You know what I want, Granger.”

The image of him pulling a trigger of an unloaded pistol against her forehead appeared to the front of her mind. It was the only time Hermione has ever seen him holding a gun; though unfortunately at her expense. It was the night when Hermione parents — for the first time in a long time — weren’t at the manor. The night when Matthias had walked into the manor barely alive. 

She looked up to him, fisting her suddenly clammy hands as she asked him, “Matthias’ attacker?”

Theo gave her a predatory, ear to ear, toothy grin.  It kind of reminded her of Heath Ledger as The Joker. He didn’t nod or shake to justify her question — it was enough of an answer, really. 

He crossed the road, leaving her and her stormy thoughts alone. “See you soon, Granger,” he said without looking back.

She was still digesting the information down. She had so many questions and answers to sort but she just didn’t know where to begin. As if on cue, her stomach growled loudly. She looked at Theo’s back one last time before she continued walking home. “Alright. Let’s start with food then.”

* * *

**_“Are you home?”_ **

_ “Yes.” _

**_“Are you all right? Heard you left your friend’s place with Theodore.”_ **

_ “Stop sending Crabbe. He was being so obvious last night. Did anyone ever tell him he’s much much much wider than the light post?” _

**_“Are you insinuating that he’s fat?”_ **

_ "Just don’t send anyone to look after me, Draco. I can take care of myself.” _

**_“I know you can. I’ve left you alone for years, didn’t I? Until one day Theodore barged into my office and told me about your request for information. He almost said ‘fuck’ too. Imagine my surprise.”_ **

_ “I wish there’s more informant out there.” _

**_“There is. But none as good as The Nott.”_ **

_ “I know. Are you still coming for lunch?” _

**_“On my way.”_ **

Hermione put her phone down on the table. Her brief talk with Theo that morning still whirled her brain. It was only logical for Theo to seek revenge, to look for the attacker. What she didn’t expect though, was to hear Zabini, Black, and Nott in the same sentence. 

She spun the ring around her finger. The fact that Sirius was also looking for the same person got her thinking about Regulus.

Regulus.

Her mentor, her friend, her brother. The man who loved his brother so much. He had his brother’s letters tucked in his pocket twenty-four seven. “I’m gonna meet my brother soon,” he had said in his final month. She had been there, laughing with him as he shared his brother’s antics with her. “Aunt Euphemia took him in when he left home at sixteen. He hero-worshipped cousin James — James’ an officer, you see, working with your friend’s dad.” He had been his happiest that month. Hermione had never seen anyone with that much of glow. 

“He loved them, Hermione. There’s no way he would do that. He was framed, I’m sure of it,” he had told her when she asked why his brother was imprisoned, “Maybe he got into a tiff with some mob, knowing how hot-headed he is. You know how this world works — they want something from you, you said no, then boom. They take away everything you hold dear.” 

She squeezed her eyes, letting her tears roll down her cheeks. She should have took that piece of information seriously. She should have expected they would come to him next.

She took off her ring, putting it on the table as she watched the sunlight reflected on its black stone. 

She wanted to blame Fate, for making her dropped her phone and let Sirius — out of thousands of people that night — pick it up.  But she couldn’t. As much as she hated how his life intertwined with her past, she couldn’t deny the thrill made her want him more.  

She looked down to the latest crossword puzzle she had solved.  _ ‘Godfather,’ ‘Grim,’ ‘Halloween,’ ‘Adopted,’ ‘Thirty,’ ‘prisoner,’ _ and more to reveal the mystery of Sirius Black: the man she had been kissing without even knowing his age — well, now she knew he was thirty. Six years older than her.  _ Thank you, Theo. _

She pulled her curls down to cover her blush. She had made out with Harry’s godfather without abandon every single time they had met. She dreaded the day Harry would find out about their tryst. That would be one awkward conversation. Which raised another question. 

She palmed her chin and hummed. “Does Sirius know about me?” 

Her phone dinged. She looked down to see ‘Draco M.’ on her screen. 

**_“Open the door.”_ **

She rolled her eyes, getting up to open the door. “Next time, knock the damn door like a normal person, Malfoy,” she said as a greeting.

Draco smirked. “Nice to see you, too.” He bent down to kiss her cheeks. “I got us Thai.”

She didn’t see anything in his hands, then she realised, this was Draco. So she looked past his shoulder and voila, there the food was, in Greg’s hands. She outstretched her hand to take it from him. Greg shook his head before he kicked Draco’s foot. 

“What the hell?” Draco turned to him.

“Take the food inside. Be a fucking gentleman for once, Draco.” Greg passed the food to him before greeting her with a friendly smile. “It’s good to see you again, Granger.”

“Good to see you, too, Greg. Looking sharp,” she commented his black suit. “Honestly, you and Crabbe. Black suit, black shoes, and sunglasses? Could you guys be any more subtle?”

Greg took out a pen from his front pocket. “If I answer you, ma’am, I have to erase your memory.” He pointed it to Draco. “I’ll be waiting in the car, and you, behave.”

“Fuck off,” Draco said to him as he pushed her back inside then closed the door. “Man, imagine if there’s really a device to erase someone’s memory.”

“Yeah, I’d have erased my memory of last night,” she agreed wholeheartedly. Pansy had sent multiple unsavory pictures of her drunkenness from the party. They were extremely bizarre, what with her big hair and oily face and mascara stained cheeks. Nightmare. Pansy was a nightmare.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was enjoying my bottle of Dom Pérignon — exclusively flown from France, mind you — last night. I couldn’t imagine what sort of experience you had on St. Patrick’s Eve.” He set the food on the table. The movement pulled his long sleeves up a little, exposing a tail of constellation on his inner forearm. 

Hermione looked anywhere but there. She wanted to ask him about it but she knew it would lead to a whole new big matter. So she shut the thought, leaving it for another time as she took the offered spoon. “So, how are you?”

Draco pulled his sleeves up.  _ Welp. Okay, then. Let’s talk about it now. Jeez. _

“It hurts like hell,” he whined, showing her the the full Draco constellation. “It’s fucking huge, Hermione. And I was sober! They could at least let me drink!”

Hermione snorted. “When did you get this?”

He rolled his sleeves up, picking on his food as he answered, “Yesterday morning. Hence, why I ordered a bottle right after.”

She waved her spoon in his face. “Stop being a ninny. It’s literally dots and lines. Be grateful you’re not the head of Malfoy yet or you would have gotten that obnoxious full back tattoo instead.” 

His already pale skin turned paler. Hermione choked on her food. “No freaking way—”

He pushed the food away, groaning as he got up to the fridge. Opening a can of beer, he continued, “Lucius, damn that man, he told me to be the head instead.”

“Holy fuck,” Hermione said.

He took a sip before passing her a can. “Tell me about it.”

“But isn’t he the evil mastermind?” She opened hers and took a sip. This was a lot to take in. “Didn’t we agree he poisoned his own father to be the rightful heir of the iron throne? How’s Abraxas doing, by the way?”

“Obviously we’ve watched too much of Game of Thrones. Did you hear they gonna push season eight to next year? Unbelievable. And oh, God, grandfather. That old man wants to marry the nurse,” he said, scrunching his face and taking a longer sip. 

Her eyes widened. “Poppy? He wants to marry Poppy?!” 

“Jesus Christ, Hermione. Don’t say her name. I don’t want to picture their arthritis sex!”

“Ew, Draco! Ew!” She jumped up, pacing as she pulled her hair desperately. She didn’t need that image in her head. Poppy was a grandmother figure to her. She didn’t want to think of her grandmother’s sexual activity, ever. Not with Abraxas.  _ Well,  _ she thought,  _ Abraxas still look fit for his age.  _ He snuck a look at Draco.  _ Damn Malfoys and their beautiful genes!  _

“I know!” He sat on the kitchen counter. “Anyway, back to the evil mastermind, apparently we deduced wrong.”

“What happened?” She leaned her back against the wall, standing across of him. 

“Grandfather gets better. Turns out father was acting out because he was so scared of his health. You should’ve seen how he cried when grandfather walked into our dinner jovially, Hermione,” a small smile graced his face, “I kind of understand him, you know? I should have noticed it earlier. Father would do anything for his family. Remember when he saw my stitch and almost fire your mum because she had marred my perfect skin?”

“Wait, he found out ‘bout that?” She asked, “And yet Neville still alive?”

“He didn’t know why. He was too frantic to listen to the rest of my explanation,” he chuckled.

Hermione liked how he look now. She could see how much his dad’s questionable anger problem in the past month affecting him. Now that she thought of it, she recalled seeing him sending and picking Draco all on his own from Neville’s place. A very tentative father, indeed.

“So now that Abraxas all better, he’s okay?”

“He never wanted to be the head of the family. He thought he’s too soft to be a leader.” He scoffed. “If you ask me, I’d say he’s just too scared to get the damn tattoo.”

“Huh. I guess all the tension was from him being pressured to be one.”

“And without his father as his guidance, exactly,” he added. “So now, it all fall on me.” He rolled his shoulder, as if feeling the burden on them stacking higher and heavier.

“Good news is, some girls dig full back tattoo,” she said, smiling when her childhood friend winked at her. 

The idea of him leading the family, — an empire — sitting at the head of the table, made her heart swell with pride. She watched as Draco looked confused seeing her recycling bins and put his can into the red one. 

He turned to her, “Why do you have four bins?” 

She sighed, clearing her papers off the head table. Her fingertips found the cold platinum ring. She paused briefly, blinking as the reflection met her eyes. 

_ “Don’t ever take this off, Kitten.” _

She picked it up, squeezed it in her fist for a second before she put the Black ring on top of the counter with the papers. She moved his food to the head table and pulled the chair out for him. “Come on, Mr. Malfoy. I’m gonna give you a lesson on how to be commoners 101.”

He sat and took her hand, kissing her palm as he looked up to her. “Come back to the manor, Hermione. Stay by my side.”

“As long as you let me live Crabbe-free,” she said seriously.

Draco laughed, and it was the lightest, the most boisterous laugh she had ever heard from him in a long. This was her Draco, one that she would follow loyally as how her parents had followed Abraxas.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even gonna promise posting dates anymore I keep fixing things that I eventually rewrite the whole things!
> 
> Thank you for sticking by me and my slow updates. I love all of you!


	6. Easter's Day

* * *

**_1.4_ **

**_“Good morning, love.”_ **

**_“Kitten?”_ **

**_“Where are you?”_ **

“She’s lonely. Either you pop out a baby or get her a kitten. What do you think, Hermione?”

She shoved her phone back into her jeans pocket, returning her attention to her other two friends, effectively ignoring his texts. “She’s a mother, Draco. She wants to mother.”

“That’s a surprising statement coming from you. Aren’t you all about empowering women to success? The right to work and all that,” Draco said, cocking an eyebrow as he took a sip of his tea.

“No, Draco.” She turned to him, back straightening as if she was in a lecture hall giving her best presentation. “It’s not necessarily meant having a job, you uneducated ferret. It’s more about the freedom of choice no matter what it is without enticing any judgement upon them. Narcissa loves being a housewife. She loves spoiling you and now that you’ve all grown up—”

“Being the head of Malfoy, no big deal,” Neville interrupted.

“—she doesn't know what to do with her free time. Alas, a baby.”

“Or a kitten. Since, you know, she’s allergic with dogs.”

“I don’t see why she can’t just have one more kid. Narcissa’s still young. And Lucius,” she whistled scandalously, making Draco looked at her in bewilderement, “he’s fit.”

“A baby brother,” Draco seethed, glaring at them, “is not gonna happen anytime soon, or if I have a say in it, ever! Besides, you know about mother’s condition.” He smiled wanly, spinning his family ring as he continued, “I almost killed her.”

Hermione turned her gaze to the manor, picturing Narcissa sipping her morning tea in front of their garden maze—trust Malfoys to have outrageous taste.

She remembered watching her cried over one miscarriage after another until her mum had finally put a stop on it. _“It would risk your health, Narcissa. It could kill you. Your last pregnancy almost did,”_ her mum had said.

 _“Lucius wanted a daughter, Jane. Watching Hermione and Draco together makes him want a daughter of his own,”_ Narcissa had told her, her hand upon her stomach.

 _“No. This is a strict order from your doctor,”_ her mum had said sternly before she smoothened her ton, “ _and an advice—a request, more likely,_ _from a dear friend. Do you want Draco to grow up without a mother?”_

“Don’t be dramatic,” Hermione swatted the back of his head, pushing away the image of Narcissa, sobbing, as she told Lucius about her decision in her mum’s small office. “That’s the risk of giving birth. It’ll always be bloody.” She paused, recalling how Lucius had hugged Narcissa firmly and said, _“I don’t want a daughter if you weren’t there to dress her up.”_

“Kudos to your father for being a solid support system. Don’t put the blame on yourself too much, Draco," she continued.

“ _I’d kill the man who got you pregnant if you were, Kitten.”_

She quickly took a sip of her tea, hiding her warming cheeks from her friends as she recalled a whole different kind of pregnancy talk with him. _Oh, Dear. He’s really aggressive, isn’t he?_

“Yeah, mate. You ain't that important. Just get her a cat and be done with it. She’s happy, you’re happy; all’s right with the world!” Neville said in finality, stretching his arms upward as though he just solved the biggest mystery of the world.

Her phone buzzed again. Her hand itched to take it out and to reply him and ask for his selfie.

Draco put a hand on her knee, looking at her annoyedly. “Stop shaking.”

“I’m not!”

“‘Course you’re not,” Neville said, holding the table down in a very exaggerated manner before he turned to Draco. “Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. It’s just an earthquake.”

She pushed Draco’s hand away, crossing her legs to show them she was not—would not—shaking. “Just give me the damn eggs!”

Neville laughed and patted her head. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Isn’t she cute, Draco?”

“What an adorable little thing, you are,” Draco cooed, “More adorable if you’d just fucking move in already.”

“She’s moving back to the Manor?” Neville asked with his eyes widened. He pointed a finger to the enormous, black manor across the road. “That Manor?!”

“What do you take me for, Longbottom? Of course she'd agree. I could be very persuasive. Though, Nev, she seems to deliberately slowing the process down.” Draco flicked the non-existent dust off his suit, looking arrogant with his blasted smirk.

Hermione had to curl her hand into a fist to stop herself from literally wiping it off his stupid face.

“Fucking finally.” Neville hugged her sideways. “Let’s go to your place and start packing!”

“Can’t.” She chuckled and pinched Neville’s cheek when she saw his downward smile. “I’m going to the Weasleys for Easter. Hence, Neville, the damn eggs!”

“But you did agree, right?” Neville asked.

“I did. I just… I’ve lived in that apartment ever since I left the Manor, Nev. I need time to get used to the idea that I’m not gonna live there anymore,” she answered with a small smile.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed defeatedly. “So, do you still need more time?” 

He was so excited before and Hermione had wiped it away in a mere millisecond. She turned to look at Draco and had to bite her tongue before she could curse the mirth out of his eyes. The conniving man knew how to play his card right.

“Nope,” she poked Neville’s cheek playfully, “I’ve had enough.”

“Well, that’s settled it!” He kissed her temple, getting up to fetch the Easter eggs that Grandma Longbottom had baked for Hermione. “We’ll come later then. At night. We can cook supper as a parting way with your place.”

When he disappeared inside the house, Hermione turned to Draco. “You loathsome cockroach. You knew I couldn’t say no to an excited Neville!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hermione. I’m just simply sharing my good news with my best friend,” he said apologetically but his eyes—damn his eyes—sparkled like the star he was.

She narrowed her eyes at him as she took a bite of Grandma Longbottom’s infamous cookies, mouthing “ _you’re dead”_ when her phone buzzed again.

She looked down to where her pocket was, nodding her head as her brain decidedly to agree with her heart: y _es. In the name of Aphrodite, I’ll stop ignoring him and I’ll reply all his texts and maybe call him ‘cause goddess, it’s killing me to hide him from Draco and I miss him so terribly and I wanna see him and I wanna kiss him and I—_

“All jokes aside,” Draco’s voice pulled her back, “I’m glad you’re back, Hermione.”

She met his earnest eyes when her phone buzzed once more.

“Me too, Draco.” She placed her hand upon the vibration of her pocket, her surrounding darkened as the vibration went on. Darkness over darkness. She swallowed the pressure down. “Me too.”

* * *

She could hear the beautiful sound of children’s laughter from where she was in the second floor. She moved closer to the window, peering down to the commotion at the Weasley’s backyard. Seeing the children raced against each other for the hidden eggs made Hermione smile.

“Mine will be there someday,” Harry commented, jolting her awake from her reverie. He walked toward her, looking out the window as she did.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She pulled his ear and tilted his head toward Ginny, who has been busy taking care of the kids. “Sure, Player. But first, you have to talk to Ginny.”

 _That’s rich coming from you, Hermione,_  she thought, _you don’t even have the guts to text him without feeling guilty._

Harry thudded his forehead against the glass, groaning. “I’m trying.”

“Bullshit.” Hermione leaned sideways to look at him. “She told me you’re hiding from her. Is that true?”

His forehead met the glass one more time before he, too, leaned sideways to face her. “I'm steeling myself, okay? Tryna talk myself out that she isn’t the girl in diapers anymore.

“I just—” he pushed his glasses up before scratching the back of his neck, “—I wanna be with her, ‘Mione. All the girls before could never take that feeling away.”

“What feeling?”

“Love?” He answered.

Hermione cocked and eyebrow at his uncertainty.

Harry cleared his throat then he looked down at the backyard as a small smile appeared on his face. “Yeah,” he answered again, but this time he met her eyes hard with the kind of resolve he had whenever he would talk about his effort to grow his height. “This _is_ love. I’m in love, Hermione. And it feels so fucking good.”

He was grinning goofily and so, _so_ in love. Hermione could feel his joy in the air, taking over her and making her giddy as well. “Well, well. Look at you. Where’s all this galls come from?”

“Sirius,” he said, grinning.

Of course it had to be him. Of fucking course. Hermione forced her smile to stay as her surrounding blurred. She swallowed the suffocating pressure down her throat and said, “Sirius?”

“Oh, right. You didn’t know his name. Sirius Black, or as you known him as Padfoot, is my godfather. He told me to cease the day! Carpe diem! Or whatever motivational shit there is.”

She hummed, leaning back to sit on Ginny’s bed. The ring felt tighter around her. She quickly hid her hand from him. “Good for you. You needed that push. I was gonna ask some lucky charm from Luna. She swear on Spes they work like magic.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Spes?”

“Goddess of Hope,” she said exasperatedly. “Honestly, Harry. Learn your goddesses!”

“I can hardly keep up with one god,” he said, laughing. “I’ll ring you if I wanna join your new goddess-loving cult, alright?”

She huffed, “Shove off.”

Harry bent down to kiss her forehead. It took him a while to be this comfortable on showing his affection openly. His childhood hadn’t been kind to him, to put it lightly. She remembered how glad she and Ron had been when Harry told them about his godfather’s release. He needed a father figure. Albeit her Sir. Which was weird. Which was needed to be adressed. Right now.

“Are you really okay?” Harry asked, as though he could hear her thought. He could be really perceptive when she didn’t need him to be. “Anything you wanna talk bout before I head downstairs?” He continued, tugging her wayward lock familiarly without breaking their eye contact.

 _Yes,_ she thought, _Yes, Harry. I have so much to tell you. A confession_. _Oh, dear goddesses, forgive my sin!_

“I’m okay,” she answered instead. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “Go get your girl, Hairy Pot. I’ll be down soon.”

Once Harry left her alone, she laid down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. When her phone vibrated for the hundredth times, she groaned, taking it out to read his text.

**_“Are you okay?”_ **

**_“Please, reply. At least tell me you’re okay.”_ **

**_“Fuck”_ **

**_“This isn’t funny, Kitten. Not funny at all.”_ **

**_“Hello???”_ **

**_“Fuck”_ **

**_FUCK”_ **

**_“I’m assuming you've been kidnapped so wait for me to track your fucking phone down.”_ **

**_"and I'll kill that bastard"_ **

**_“Stay where you are”_ **

She snorted at his unnecessary aggression before she panicked. Because this was Sirius Black she was talking about. The man would track her phone for real and might even pull a whole damn search party to find her.

Ignoring the nagging voice in her head that sounded eerily like Ron—begging her to stop acting stupid. _"Think about Harry! What would he say?!"_ —she moved her thumbs, tapping down her reply surely.

She missed him and this circumstances didn’t make it any easier. But dear Morgana, did it thrill her in a very immoral way. It had her blood rushing in excitement. Illicit and oh, so forbidden.

She pressed send before she could change her mind.

“Hermione Granger! Get your arse down here, right now!” The real Ron yelled from downstairs.

“Coming, mum!” She yelled back, waiting until she saw the small ‘ _Delivered_ ’ word appeared under her text bubble before she went down and joined her friends.

“ _Your cafe in 30 minutes.”_

* * *

“Welcome!” Dora’s friendly voice greeted her once she stepped into the cafe. Her friendliness quickly dispersed in a lightning speed once she recognised her. “Oh, it’s you." She scowled. "Where’s the redhead?”

“She’s not with me,” Hermione answered, her eyes drifted to the door behind the counter. “Is he—”

“He’s here,” Dora answered simply.

That was all she needed to hear. She walked faster toward the door. One step after another, breaking into a small jog as she felt it—the familiar feel of the electrifying pull, coiling and jolting her guts, beckoning her to come faster to the other end of the pull.

And as if feeling the attraction, the door opened, revealing the man that had brought her trouble and confusion and everything that was wrong and right at the same time.

She saw his grey eyes widened as they met her own brown; she now noticed his Sirius’ constellation tattoo among others on his forearm; she realised, belatedly, how much she has suddenly craved for ice-cream when she saw his lips slowly curved upward into a smile.

She jumped into his open arms, pushing them into his office and enjoying the warmth in her belly as the pull loosened itself. She was instantly engulfed by the smell of coffee, cigarette, Chanel, and pastry, and him.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Kitten,” he whispered into her hair, tightening his arms around her waist. “You need to be punished.”

She laughed, elated when she felt the all familiar rush and need washed over her; drowning her being into the deepest black hole there was. She was happy, yet at the same time, she couldn’t ignore how scary it was: this fear of not knowing what this feeling was, not knowing the depth of this torturous attraction they had.

And the most horrible thing was, she was willing and ready to stay deep in the pitch black if it meant to be this close with him. Her Sir. Her Sirius.

Hers.

“Yes,” she said, burying her head deeper into his embrace until she could feel his erratic heartbeat against her cheek as she said, “Please, Sir. Punish me.”

He pulled back, tilting her head up so their eyes met. She didn’t want to close her eyes. She wanted to capture this moment, to engrave the right colour of his eyes—grey and down to the blue speckles, the sharpness of his nose, the light tint of pink on his pale cheeks, the upward tug of the corner of his mouth, _everything_.

“Your punishment is to stay here with me until it’s closing time,” he said as he cupped her cheeks. She closed her eyes when his thumbs ran across them. “And don’t,” he bent down, peppering her with small kisses before he stopped a breath away from her lips, “don’t you ever disappear on me without any warning again. I was ready to gather up a search party.”

She grinned at him when he echoed her earlier thought. She tiptoed, closing the small distance without waiting for him. It was fireworks, explosive and loud. Has it been that long since they last kissed? Did he still remember her taste? Because mother of Venus, she remembered his.

And when she opened her mouth, submitting herself for him to explore, she saw stars. Scattering and twinkling and it made her want to get out of the black hole, out of the fear. She wanted the beauty of Milky Way: out in the open for all eyes to see, bright and free. Like Sirius, the brightest star against the black canvas that was the vast night sky.

She wanted that. Yearned to be free. The freedom to choose, to do whatever the hell she wanted without a care in the world. She wanted it all.

“Hermione,” she sighed between their kisses, “my name is Hermione.”

“Hermione,” he whispered against her lips.

“Hermione,” she repeated before he swallowed her again.

“Harry’s—”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Kitten,” he said, planting wet kisses on her neck before he pulled back, resting his forehead against her as their short breaths mingled together.

“I know.” She tightened her entwined fingers at the nape of his neck, not wanting to let go in case he would pull her deeper into the darkness instead.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He found her hand and kissed the finger where his ring was. “I’m here if you’re here.”

She studied his lips, trembling against the obnoxious black onyx. Protection, it meant. He chose to protect. Decided, without asking, to be her knight in the shining armour. And now, now he was asking her—so vulnerable—with trembling lips if she would choose him or not. If she was here, if she wanted this.

“I don’t want here,” she said. At his crestfallen face, she quickly added, “I want _there_. I want us to be out there, Sir. Holding hands and kissing and… I just want to come clean to my friends.”

He kissed the ring again before he let out a shaky breath. “For a while there I thought you were gonna leave me.”

She looked at him incredulously as though he has grown another head.

His laughter was what serotonin would sound like, if it had a sound. She was giggling, she realised. It was ridiculous how happy she was. How the small leap they took has made her heart feel lighter than before.

He stopped laughing but his eyes were still dancing in amusement. “I guess we’re gonna tell Harry first, huh?”

She blinked. Yes. Of course she had to tell Harry.

She blinked again and she saw a boy—No. A man. Standing regally in his black suit, a contrast from his pale skin and blond hair. A Man who she has sworn her loyalty to: Draco. Her Draco. A Malfoy.

Malfoy, the family that had took Regulus in, that had gave Regulus a roof to sleep under. Malfoy, the last family he had before he was killed.

“Hey, Kitten,” Sirius cupped her face again, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I won’t leave you no matter what you decide to do from now on. Here, there, now, later; wherever and whenever. We don’t have to tell anyone if you’re not ready. I’ll always be with you.”

_“You know how this world works — they want something from you, you said no, then boom. They take away everything you hold dear.”_

Oh, Hermione. This thrill had to stop.

“You’re right.” She smiled at him, running her fingers in his black hair.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Boy, this story really lost its track of time, huh. Easter on Halloween? Wild.
> 
> I would like to dedicate this chapter to the lovely reader on FFNET who left a kind message on my tumblr! Thank you, anon! Your message has pumped me to write this chapter and in a way fueled my alpha reader Cecelia, so we could get this chapter ready within one night! Lemme know in the comment who you are so I can include your name here, you precious bean!
> 
> ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


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